it is my car.
bumper stickered up; several years ago.
he makes it to Estes Park with the windows rolled down
and the heat cranked up
and the music off
i hear him gasping for some sort of enduring breath
he can make it to Echo Lake
the same precautions are made around the winding incline
churning
i speak words of encouragement
shouting you can do it
so i may visit the mountian goats
after i hike past the picnicing grandparents
but he won't make it to breckinridge
and though i am game for hitchhiking with mates
my high heels tell me i should not make a go of it this time
so i offered my rejection with with slight personal disappointment
as i acknowledged that i do not own a mountain vehical
i owned a gift with racing stripes
i owned a toy that i rarely paralall park
i owned a not-a-gas-guzzler
and i owned a little guy i could traverse the foothills, if i do it carefully
no camping in breck this time around
maybe tubbing in nebraska though
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